


Moments in the Life of Ford Prefect

by Bethynyc



Category: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams, Space Opera - Catherynne M. Valente, Torchwood
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Don't copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 08:31:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17019270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethynyc/pseuds/Bethynyc
Summary: Before everything happened, Ford had a life.





	Moments in the Life of Ford Prefect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greenlily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenlily/gifts).



> For Greenlily
> 
> Many thanks to Beta Prinzenhasserin and Beta malinaldarose who are both amazing and help me see where I need to improve. Thank you both so very much!

What I Want To Be When I Grow Up by [Ix] (Note: Ford Prefect’s name is clarified in a footnote in Chapter 5 of The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams. Here, Ford uses his nickname rather than the transliterated version of his given name.) 

I want to be a wing driver. They get to drive fast wingships through the sky and turn them upside down whenever they like. They see all of the places of Betelgeuse 5, like the Swinging Mountains, the Letters of Trask, and the Deep Dark Sea. They also fly between our planet and its moons, Nyx, Hak, and Imbroglio. Imbroglio is where the spaceport is found, and wing drivers are very important for bringing people to the spaceport. I want to see all of the places and being a wing driver is exciting, except when there is an accident and the wingships blow up. 

~*~*~*~

 

First Draft Notes Recording for Higher Education Application – Overcoming Obstacles  
Age 16

(clears throat)

My father was the last survivor of the Great Hrung Collapse of Betelgeuse 7, and eventually died of shame, taking the Praxibetel language with him. As such, I am burdened with the obstacle of an unpronounceable name and the spectre of scandal that haunted my father through the remainder of his life. 

Actually, no. My name isn’t my biggest obstacle, it is the fact that my semicousin Zaphod is just so infuriatingly cool and hoopy and good at everything. The frood keeps getting me into trouble, while never getting into trouble himself. Love the guy, really, he’s probably my best friend, but still. He’s on top, and I’m the sidekick. Not even the hero of my own story. I’m just this guy, you know. And Zaphod is…Zaphod. 

He can do anything, and I’m just following along. I’d like to be the hero, for once. 

I want to travel the universe and not tag along with Zaphod. There should be a way for me to do that, be my own person and live a cool and froody life. 

Ugh. Start over.

(pause and clicks as the recorder does not erase the previous notes.)

My father was the last survivor of the Great Hrung Collapse of Betelgeuse 7, and eventually died of shame, taking the Praxibetel language with him. As such, I am burdened with the obstacle of an unpronounceable name and the spectre of scandal that haunted my father through the remainder of his life.

Since the name was unable to be pronounced by me, or indeed, anyone else aside from my father, I was nicknamed “Ix” from an early age and have managed with that singular prefix for my entire life. 

(long pause)

(sigh)

You know what really bugs me about Zaphod? He just doesn’t seem to care about what happens to the people around him? The people he has sex with, the people he drags into his schemes, the random people he doesn’t even know but crushes on the way to getting to his next party—all of them just accept that Zaphod Beeblebrox is the hoopiest frood ever and they are honoured to be trampled by him! His sex partners might get dropped after one time, but they always sing his praises. 

ARGH. 

You know what? Screw Zaphod Beeblebrox, and screw this name belgium. This random number generator gave me 37, and the 37th syllable of my name is ford. So, I’m now Ford. Hate being called Ix or that unpronounceable thing that takes ages to say. 

I’m Ford. Deal with it. 

Now I can write this stupid belgiuming essay.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Transcription of an accidentally recorded conversation 

FORD: --black, that’s a horrible name.

HOTBLACK DESIATO: No, it’s cool, man. 

F: Really?

HB: Really! It has…an edge.

F: An edge.

HB: Edge. Edged. Edgy. 

F: You know, it doesn’t get any better the more you say it. 

HB: Like you’d know from band names.

F: Oh, I know from band names!

HB: SpaceViking Porgs is an AWESOME name!

F: It’s a stupid name.

HB: It expresses the nihilistic dichotomy of our music!

F: You don’t have music. You have three songs that consist entirely of wailing over atonal chord progressions. That’s not music, that’s demolition.

HB: Hey!…okay, that’s fair. We are still learning how the instruments work.

F: But you got the _important_ stuff down. (sarcastically) 

HB: Exactly! The look the name, the style, that’s what sells these days. The music is just incidental. 

F: Incidental? How can music be incidental to a rock band? 

HB: Where have you been? Style is everything in the industry now! We are going to be the coolest rock band ever. We’re going to be so cool, you’ll find me in a meat locker!

F: Not going to happen.

HB: Zaphod likes the name. Zaphod even suggested it. 

F: ARGH! HOTBLACK!!! No WONDER the name’s a disaster! 

HB: Wait…

F: What?

HB: (mumbles)

F: WHAT????

HB: DISASTER SPACEVIKINGS!!!!

FP: No.

(Recording ends)

~*~*~*~

Excerpt from a broadcast from the Megagalactic Grand Prix in _Interstellar Music Reviews_

This is Ford of Betelgeuse V, reporting to you from The Megagalactic Grand Prix. As always, the Grand Prix is a stunning display of glitz and glitter and shine, with favorites and underdogs in a grand competition of music and pageantry. Here are some of the more fascinating entrants in this contest of skill and showmanship. 

The Hooloovoos have once again put forward the InkSpots, the band that won the Megagalactic Grand Prix two seasons ago. Their new number “Rhapsody in Blue” is rumored to be a frothy, lighthearted piece about the utter desolation of existence, and we expect them to place in the top five.

The Betelgeuse system has selected a new group, The Blasters, fronted by none other than Zaphod Beeblebrox, alleged to be in the running for President of the Galaxy to succeed current President Yooden Vranx. Despite being one of the coolest cats in the galaxy, Zaphod is unfortunately unable to sing or play any instrument. Do not ask your humble reviewer how he knows this fact, just trust that it is true. 

The group representing the small furry creatures from Alpha Centauri, the Fizzgigs, have a new number most confusingly entitled “Several Species Of Small Furry Creatures Gathered Together In A Cave And Grooving With A Pict.” We do not know what a Pict is, nor why it is grooving in a cave. However, the flamethrowers are a nice touch for their stage show. 

The Aandrisk group, the _KTRSSGGGKKK_ , which is loosely translated to “Equations of Beauty” will be performing “Gosh I’d Hate To Be You” and this reviewer expects that the light show will be groundbreaking, as it has been for the last three seasons. 

As usual, in the spirit of the First Grand Prix that ended the Sentience Wars, we have a new entrant: The Raxacoricofallapatorians, represented by the Crelleen Family. This reviewer hasn’t gleaned much information about them, but they seem to be a calcium based race. It will be most interesting to see their entry, and whether or not they join the larger galactic milieu in being recognized as sentient, and not annihilated completely from the universe. 

This reporter will remain on the scene with regular updates and reviews of the performances. Signing off for now, this is Ford of Betelgeuse V for _Interstellar Music Reviews_

~*~*~*~

Ford was in a bar as usual. He stared morosely at his list in his reviewer’s copy of the _Guide_ and took another swallow of his Altarian ouiskee. Each time an unfamiliar name popped up, he poked at the screen until an entry appeared, and sighed deeply.

“What’s wrong, handsome?” The voice was smooth, male, and utterly unfamiliar. Ford looked up to see a tall humanoid with brown hair and blue eyes, wearing a long grey coat. The stranger smiled in a friendly--rather than predatory--fashion, and sat down next to Ford. “That device you’ve got isn’t making you happy.” He nodded at the bartender, who promptly brought two more ouiskees. 

“It’s a work thing,” said Ford. 

The person raised an inquiring eyebrow. “Maybe you need a new job, if it makes you that unhappy.”

“Look,” said Ford “I’m not going to pour out my woes to a perfect stranger. That’s what the bartender is for.” 

The bartender flicked a tentacle in Ford’s direction and was waved off. 

The stranger smiled again, much more warmly than before, and held out his hand. “Captain Jack Harkness.”

“Ford.” They shook hands.

“Well, Ford, since we aren’t strangers any more, why not tell me your troubles?”

Ford downed his first ouiskee and shook his head as it burned down his throat. “I’m a roving researcher for the _Guide_ , and unfortunately need to turn in some copy.”

“And how is that a problem?”

“Most of the places that I want to go have already been covered,” said Ford, and sipped at the new ouiskee. This was a much better brand than what he’d been drinking before, and a tiny part of him hoped that the drinks would get along well in his stomach. 

Jack took a sip of his own ouiskee. “So that’s your problem; you need something fresh.”

“Yes, very much so. You see, we get bonuses for reviewing places that have never been reviewed before. For example, the planet Midnight has a ten-thousand word general overview, with another fifteen thousand words dedicated just to the Sapphire Falls. Any expansion of that doesn’t bring in the galactic credits any more. It’s been done.” Ford shook his head again. “I’d really like to find someplace new, someplace that hasn’t been reviewed into oblivion.” He leaned on the bar counter and stared into his drink. 

A warm arm nudged him. “I think I know a place,” said Jack.

“Does it have bars? With wide varieties of alcohol?”

“Tons of bars. Huge variety. Even within individual cities, you can find something different.”

“How’s the climate?”

“Also varied. Oceans, mountains, prairies, quaint little towns and cosmopolitan cities and incredibly boring suburbs. Fantastic food. Collectively, the people can be a little harsh, but individually you can love them.” There was a wistful glimmer in Jack’s eyes, Ford noted. Then he smiled again, and the wistfulness was gone, replaced by excitement and cheer. “Sound interesting?”

Ford pressed his lips together. He was interested, but didn’t want Jack to know it yet. “Hmmm. There’s potential. What’s the name of this place?”

Jack leaned towards him, his voice hushed and intimate. “The Earth.”

The spell was broken. Ford leaned away from Jack. “Are you joking? What a boring name. What sector is it in anyway?”

“Sector ZZ9 Plural Z Alpha.” 

“Oh, you have _got_ to be joking! That’s the most backward back end that ever existed! No one’s going to want to hitch all the way out there, no matter how good the bars are!” Ford slipped off the stool to get a little further away from Jack and bumped into a Baltian. 

Ford apologised to the Baltian, bought him a drink, and turned to Jack again. 

Jack was gone. 

_Well, that was unfortunate,_ thought Ford, before one long tentacle tapped him on the shoulder and another handed him a note. 

**If you want to continue this conversation, I’m on the next level, corner table. Ouiskee on me.**

Ford smiled to himself. 

Upstairs, he found Jack in a cozy corner with two comfortable chairs, a bottle of very expensive ouiskee, and two clean glasses. Ford sat in the empty chair and accepted the drink. “So,” he said, “why would the _Guide_ be interested in this planet in particular? What’s the hook? Why would hitchhikers find this a good place to stay?”

Jack smiled at him. “You’d have to see it to believe it,” he said. “Two weeks. Give the Earth two weeks, and you’ll make it the prime destination for hitchhikers for years to come.”

Ford eyed him with mock suspicion. “Fine.” _I bet this is one place Zaphod’s never been. Finally. [1] _“Two weeks. You show me a good time, I write it up, get paid, and then…” 

“Then what?” inquired Jack innocently.

Ford smirked. “Then we’ll see how good the bonus is.” He raised his glass. “To Earth.”

Jack clinked his glass against his. “To Earth.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1Unfortunately, Ford was wrong about this.
> 
> More Notes!  
> The Megagalactic Grand Prix is from Space Opera by Catherynne M. Valente and is hilarious and everyone should read it. All honors to Valente for giving us Eurovision in Space!
> 
> The Fizzgigs are named after Fizzgig from The Dark Crystal, because what else would you name a band made up of small furry creatures from Alpha Centauri?
> 
> The Alpha Centauri Song is an homage to "Several Species of Small Furry Animals Gathered Together In A Cave and Grooving with a Pict" by Pink Floyd, from the Ummagumma album (1969)
> 
> The Aandrisks are from Becky Chambers' wonderful Wayfarer series, starting with The Long Way To A Small Angry Planet.
> 
> The Raxacoricofallapatorians are from Doctor Who, only with a much nicer family than the Slitheens. 
> 
> The Baltian that Ford bumps into was originally from the movie MIB (MEN IN BLACK) but was cut from the final script. 
> 
> I had so much fun writing this, and hope that fun comes through!


End file.
